The Hunger Games: Peeta's POV
by Hey124
Summary: The Hunger Games in Peeta's POV. Enjoy.   Also, someone said something about my story being one big block of text. It wasn't like that when I wrote it, it just uploaded that way. I don't know why there are no paragraphs.


When I wake up, it's to the sound of my mother's fist wrapping on my door. She screams for us to get out of bed, and then retreats back down the stairs. The smell of fresh bred is wafting upstairs from the bakery, meaning my father is already hard at work. I groan and prop myself up on my elbows, blinking my eyes as they adjust to the morning light that shines through the window of the room. My older brothers are getting out of their beds already, sighing drowsily and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. "Happy Hunger Games, Peeta," My eldest brother says to me before leaving the room for the bakery. He is no longer eligible for the reaping. It must be a relief. My other brother makes eye contact with me, and smiles sadly. "Happy Hunger Games," He says, then leaves the room. Today is the day of the reaping. The start of the Hunger Games. Today, one boy and one girl from each district will be chosen to participate in the annual death match designed by The Capitol. Only one of the twenty-four kids, called "tributes", will be returning home afterwards. Here in District 12, if you're chosen for the games, you might as well already be a corpse. I drag myself out of bed, my fingers ruffling my hair, and follow my brothers downstairs. My family is already hard at work. My brothers help my father bake the bred, and my mother is preparing squirrel meat for our breakfast. Cool, something that's fresh. I ask my dad if there is anything I can do to help, and he tells me to put the icing on the cakes. I smile, and go to decorate the cakes. Tonight after the reaping, many of the families in the District will be celebrating. Celebrating that they are safe, that their families are safe, for another year at least. Meanwhile, two families will mourn, and hope against the odds for their child to come home safely. I decorate the cakes elaborately, covering them with every flower and design I can make. I take a break from my work for breakfast, and then don't stop again until my mother is rushing us off to prepare for the reaping. I go back upstairs to my room, and change into my nicest shirt and black pants. I comb my hair so that it lies a little flatter, and then return to where my family is waiting downstairs. Unless you are on your death bed, attendance to the reaping is mandatory. All of the citizens in the district gather in the square, where a stage has been set up. Our district's escort, Effie Trinket, will wish us a happy hunger games in her annoyingly cheery voice, and she will draw the names of one boy and one girl from our district. My name is in the reaping ball five times. Once for each year since I became eligible at age twelve. There are kids who's names have been entered many more times then mine. The kids in the Seam, the kids who fight hunger and starvation daily, enter their names extra times in the reaping to receive a payments of grain and oil to give to their families. Even considering the unlikely odds, my nerves are still getting to me. As we walk towards the square, I wring my hands together anxiously. My palms are sweating. At the square, I push my way through the groups of people to go and stand with the other sixteen year old boys. The square is divided into boys and girls. The oldest are the closest to the stage, and the younger kids are the farthest back. I nod at some of my friends as I pass, but most of us are far too nervous to talk much. On the stage sits the reaping ball and three chairs. Two of the three chairs are occupied by Effie Trinket, and District 12's mayor, Mayor Undersee. Our district's only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy, is supposed to be sitting in the third chair, but knowing him, he is probably off drunk somewhere. At 2:00, the Mayor stands up, and begins to tell us the history of the Hunger Games. I've heard it all before. 74 years ago, was a time called the Dark Days. There was thirteen districts, all ruled by the Capitol. The districts didn't like how they were being treated, and rebelled. The Capitol won. The Capitol defeated the twelve of the thirteen districts, and annihilated the thirteenth. As punishment for the rebellion, The Capitol created the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games were made to show who has the power. To show that The Capitol has complete control over us, and can take the district's kids each year and have them slaughtered. To make it worse, the districts have been forced to treat it like a sporting event. The winning district, receives prizes such as food for the following year. It's a sick system, but it's the world we live in. The Mayor reads the list of past District 12 victors, there are only two, and only one still alive. As if on cue, Haymitch Abernathy comes staggering onto the stage. He is a pathetic, bedraggeled, paunchy, middle-aged, drunk. He comes onto the stage hollering something unintelligible. Great. He stumbles towards the chairs and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug. She barely fends him off. I hold back a laugh as a flustered looking Effie Trinket, trots to the podium, her hot pink wig askew. She says her signature "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" in her ridiculous capitol accent. She beams at all of us, and announces "Ladies first". Then reaches to the bottom of the girl's reaping ball, and draws a name. Unfolding the paper, she reads aloud. "Primrose Everdeen,"


End file.
